


The “Elementary” Years (1932-1936)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [235]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Destiel - Freeform, Embarrassment, F/M, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Naked Sherlock, Pie, Retirement, Sussex, Teasing, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12031548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock plays the Naked Chef, and John wonders about that life insurance policy 'someone' made him take out. There are worries over a moustachioed new German leader, and the two idjits add to their growing list of places from which they have been banned for... well, being them. And the United States delivers rather more than just a new car.





	1. Mars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majesticduxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/gifts).



1932

“Ugh!”

I pulled a face, and put the rest of the sticky chocolate bar down. These new 'Mars bars' were supposed to be selling well, but it was far too sickly for my liking.

“You did not like it?” Sherlock asked, coming in from his walk. He had been down to the village to deliver some of his honey to the bakery and the tavern. 

“Too sweet for me!” I said firmly.

He picked up the chocolate bar, and put it in his mouth – but instead of biting off a chunk like any normal person would have done, he began to suck on it almost obscenely. I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Sherlock!” I groaned. “Come on! I am eighty years old!”

“Not until tomorrow”, he said cheerily. “And I thought that you might not like that confection, so I brought you some pie as well.”

“Great!”

“Which I am now going to cook for you in the kitchen.”

“Even greater!”

“Naked.”

Yes, he really was trying to kill me through sex!


	2. Early Warning

1933

I looked across the table in surprise. 

“You think that that maverick Churchill is right about this new German leader, Herr Hitler?” I asked. “How can you trust someone with his track record?”

“Churchill's or Hitler's?” Sherlock asked wryly. “The soundings that I am getting from Germany – where I did have some financial interests until recently – are ominous indeed.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Human nature”, he said wryly. “It is part of the human psyche to want to find someone to blame when things go wrong, and we can all agree that the current world economic situation is very, very wrong. German diplomats have, I know, been working very hard to establish the narrative that they were unfairly treated at Versailles, despite their starting the war in the first place. Besides, I have read the writings of this new German leader, and he seems mentally disturbed, to put it politely.”

“But Germany is a democracy”, I pointed out.

“Not really”, he said. “These National Socialists have effectively destroyed all opposition, so it is now a dictatorship in all but name. And once there is no-one to hold a government to account, things can go very wrong very quickly. I have sold everything that I have over there, and I would advise others to do the same.”

I had my doubts but, of course, the genius proved to be all too right. Unfortunately.


	3. The Banned List

1936

It had been a worrying year. The increasingly belligerent (if not downright insane) Adolf Hitler had marched German troops into the Rhineland, the demilitarized zone along the French-German border, and neither Paris nor London had done anything to stop him. More and more, it looked as if his ambitions to 'gather all Germans unto the Fatherland' would lead to another war sooner or later.

At least it had been a good start to the day. A telegram had arrived, saying that my grandson, Ben's eldest boy Benedict who last year had married a most attractive lady called Miss Alice Wickham, was now the proud father of a baby boy – my first great-grandson. And they were calling him Sherlock John Watson, after a certain blue-eyed genius who had cried when I had told him the news.

Unfortunately, our celebrations had consequences.....

+~+~+

Our great-nephew stormed into the cottage in what was clearly not a happy mood. Although to be fair, he may have had some cause.

“I cannot believe it!” Dane yelled at us. “You are both over eighty, and to be caught going at it in the headmaster’s study at my school? Have you any idea what I will have to face next term for this? I will be the only pupil whose relatives have been barred from De Montfort's for life!”

Sherlock chuckled, and I tried to control a smirk of my own. Our great-nephew had a point, I supposed, but when Sherlock had come out of the changing-rooms wearing that damned waistcoat – well, what with the happy news from that morning and him looking like sex personified, what else was a man to do? And the headmaster had been laughing as he had banned us, although his secretary had looked scandalized (though not enough to prevent her simpering at Sherlock, I had noted sourly). 

“Your father thought that it was funny”, I muttered. Dane rounded on me.

“His sense of humour has got even worse ever since he and Mother started emulating you”, he groused. “Five brothers and three sisters is more than enough proof of that!”

“Mind the tree”, Sherlock said reprovingly as our great-nephew turned sharply near the 'over-decorated, over-burdened fire-hazard' (his words) in the corner of the room. Dane glared at us both, then stormed upstairs, huffing as he went. 

Sherlock pulled out a notebook, and added the school to the impressively long list of places that we had been banned from. We were so bad!

+~+~+

I was feeling doubly happy that day because I had finally completed the final “Elementary”, now with an amazing one hundred and sixty of the great man's (and my) adventures, and tomorrow would have it couriered to the publishers for a final check before being published. And the news from London had also been good; the unreliable (and worryingly pro-German) King Edward the Eighth had abdicated because, he had claimed, 'I cannot do my job without the woman that I loved by my side'. Hah! So much for any sense of duty, but the good thing was that his much more suitable brother Albert would replace him, and would reign as King George the Sixth.

It was also fortunate, as things turned out, that my nephew had stopped sulking and had come down when he did, because Sherlock was having my birthday present delivered, a Chevrolet Master (I know, eleven months late, but I had had to wait for first a strike at the production factory, then the ship bringing it over sinking, and finally the idiot dock-workers unloading at Southampton Docks managing to drop the damn replacement!). Hearing that throaty roar as it came along the rutted driveway was one of the best sounds of my life – well, excluding the ones I could still pull out of the blue-eyed genius, of course. The car was black and chrome, and already had the essential silver impala on the side. 

The driver was something of a surprise, though, as he was… well, young. Barely eighteen years of age by the looks of him. He looked very much like a younger version of Sherlock, reminding me of our first meeting back in Oxford all those years ago. Happy days!

“Mr. Constantine Tippens”, he smiled as he alighted from the vehicle, his accent very clearly American. “My father owns the New York dealership that you order from, sirs, and we are thinking of setting up a place over here as well. He said that I could have the honour of delivering….

His voice died off and I realized that he was staring past us. Following his gaze, I turned and saw that Dane had emerged from the cottage, blinking sleepily and looking as ruffled as his great-uncle did of a morning. He stared back at the visitor, and his eyes widened perceptibly. Mr. Tippens actually growled, and Sherlock interposed himself swiftly between the young men, placing a warning hand on the visitor's shoulder. 

“Down, boy!” he commanded.

I was grateful that Sherlock still had that Voice of his, even if nowadays he only ever used it on me. Mr. Tippens shook himself, gave one lustful look at my great-nephew and nodded.

“Sorry, sirs”, he said. “I don’t.... I don't know what came over me.”

“Whatever it was, it seems to have come over our great-nephew as well”, I teased, prodding Dane out of his trance and earning myself a sharp glare and a huff for my troubles. “Since you have come all this way, I am sure you that you can find time to stop for some refreshments, and then maybe 'someone' can show you around.”

Dane smiled at that prospect.

“Everywhere but the spare bedroom!” Sherlock added.

My great-nephew whined in protest, and Sherlock made sure to keep the two apart as we all went inside. Ah, to be young and in love!


End file.
